With new vibrance, she put forth her boasting left foot out into the place.
She assessed the color of the sky and began her brief minutes home.
It seemed as if it would end on a Monday. And she recalled to the windshield the remission of a great cancer that heavied her words and made a fool of her at seven and twelve and eighteen.
The woman studied a list of words followed by various three digit numbers.
[Most of the words foreign,
consisting of x’s and z’s,
that must translate to words about risk,
and time, and chance..]
the girl presented the idea that it was time. And that a plague had been masking her normality.
That she had been untruly accused, and furthermore, that erroneous tendencies had been assigned to her of no warrant..
That un asked for colors and flashes of light had fallen into her head at night accompanied by stories of tall universes folding into themselves and becoming one single cell.
That the list of words made hot, white noises crash into her skull.
That something would shake and twitch her at her greatest attempts at still.
And finally she explained that perhaps she had been, and she used this word eagerly, “normal” for years now. “maybe my head has fixed itself.”
The woman corrected the list on paper and begat her one so weak it almost paled in view and color.
With new vibrance, she put forth her boasting left foot out into the place.
And her pineal gland began to un-slumber.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Saturday, December 19, 2009
HOMEsick.
I’m starting to get in trouble again..
I do not manage my 24 allotted hours well, they say.
My boldest, or my most unthinking, flare up?
I was visiting the memory of an empty, snow covered town when one of them oozed out of the snow.
She seeped up.
in heavy, draping ruby.
unhurriedly made her way towards the abandoned café terrace I loitered..
I did not offer peripheral awareness.
But an odd thing, as she arrived at the gate her crimson cloak became a small snow vest and she converted to a woman. A normal woman.
And she opened the gate. And she stood facing me, studying my bottomless gaze into the vacant street.
She took a moment to turn her face towards my interest, and again my face.
then sat down..
We, there, almost as friends.
Almost as if she knew. I took a packet of sprinkles and tore it into the hot, sweet beverage I knew I could not finish.
And in silence she explained that she carried understanding for the things I must have bore inside about here.
And in sounds like heavy sheets of glass collapsing she said,
“you cannot stay here.”
“I know.”
“Not other days.
Not times after now.
Not in seconds or years.
You cannot come here..”
And as each word reached me, I could feel the first time my mother had dropped me off at daycare, and how the recognition of truth arrived at me identically.
And she conceded me moments, and we waited for the memory to perform and parade its’ climax in notable detail.
[The little red-headed girl exploded out of the heavy metal door
and she fell into the street.
She made a laughing sound and smiled at me.]
My secret, my desperate denial. I would not tell.
The woman took me by the hand and blinked slowly,
“ you need to keep your eyes open so he can remove the tubes.”
I do not manage my 24 allotted hours well, they say.
My boldest, or my most unthinking, flare up?
I was visiting the memory of an empty, snow covered town when one of them oozed out of the snow.
She seeped up.
in heavy, draping ruby.
unhurriedly made her way towards the abandoned café terrace I loitered..
I did not offer peripheral awareness.
But an odd thing, as she arrived at the gate her crimson cloak became a small snow vest and she converted to a woman. A normal woman.
And she opened the gate. And she stood facing me, studying my bottomless gaze into the vacant street.
She took a moment to turn her face towards my interest, and again my face.
then sat down..
We, there, almost as friends.
Almost as if she knew. I took a packet of sprinkles and tore it into the hot, sweet beverage I knew I could not finish.
And in silence she explained that she carried understanding for the things I must have bore inside about here.
And in sounds like heavy sheets of glass collapsing she said,
“you cannot stay here.”
“I know.”
“Not other days.
Not times after now.
Not in seconds or years.
You cannot come here..”
And as each word reached me, I could feel the first time my mother had dropped me off at daycare, and how the recognition of truth arrived at me identically.
And she conceded me moments, and we waited for the memory to perform and parade its’ climax in notable detail.
[The little red-headed girl exploded out of the heavy metal door
and she fell into the street.
She made a laughing sound and smiled at me.]
My secret, my desperate denial. I would not tell.
The woman took me by the hand and blinked slowly,
“ you need to keep your eyes open so he can remove the tubes.”
Sunday, December 13, 2009
i can rarely move. and i need to to be part of this place.
they explained at the window that i require circles and trinkets, and several other tangible items that make a person real.
That I hadn’t been born with it, but they couldn’t cut the malfunctioning part out..
i get up, and it gets down. and i remember that it gets up.
when i was three and five and six. when i was in my room.
drawing pictures of people i have never met..
writing your name down and talking to you.
that they like me when i show them how confident i was born.
here.
and how i smile and boast and say how silly words seem.
And they like the way I look.
and several other things about serious behavior and how our calm makes us real;
that they do not loose feeling in their limbs; awake.
They do not shake and scream while dreaming..
They do not hear words that come together about yellow trees and dry people,
Andveryfirmlytheytookcaretodescribethattheirdaysdonotfollowoneanotherbutaregentlyanddistinctlyseparate.
As if a line were drawn between sleep and sun.
Where I am only a few days old.
a sense maybe imminent for people that aren’t born. [and I imagine them wise and calm. And real]
and they hear the music I do that is not there.
And they can feel the vibrations of people that they have never met.
And know feelings and the waves of bumps across your arm from the way your mother stroked your hair.
[no matter how silent time had made it]
But opened in my book are words that have been read and re-read so numerous of times that the letters have been near faded by my eyes..
“and people came from all over the land: a woman who since birth counted her heartbeats and had run out of numbers, a man that got up at night to undo the things he had done while awake, a man that couldn’t sleep because the noise of the stars disturbed him, and several others with less serious ailments..”-Marquez
they explained at the window that i require circles and trinkets, and several other tangible items that make a person real.
That I hadn’t been born with it, but they couldn’t cut the malfunctioning part out..
i get up, and it gets down. and i remember that it gets up.
when i was three and five and six. when i was in my room.
drawing pictures of people i have never met..
writing your name down and talking to you.
that they like me when i show them how confident i was born.
here.
and how i smile and boast and say how silly words seem.
And they like the way I look.
and several other things about serious behavior and how our calm makes us real;
that they do not loose feeling in their limbs; awake.
They do not shake and scream while dreaming..
They do not hear words that come together about yellow trees and dry people,
Andveryfirmlytheytookcaretodescribethattheirdaysdonotfollowoneanotherbutaregentlyanddistinctlyseparate.
As if a line were drawn between sleep and sun.
Where I am only a few days old.
a sense maybe imminent for people that aren’t born. [and I imagine them wise and calm. And real]
and they hear the music I do that is not there.
And they can feel the vibrations of people that they have never met.
And know feelings and the waves of bumps across your arm from the way your mother stroked your hair.
[no matter how silent time had made it]
But opened in my book are words that have been read and re-read so numerous of times that the letters have been near faded by my eyes..
“and people came from all over the land: a woman who since birth counted her heartbeats and had run out of numbers, a man that got up at night to undo the things he had done while awake, a man that couldn’t sleep because the noise of the stars disturbed him, and several others with less serious ailments..”-Marquez
.ara batur.
I was running through a field.
Yellow strips of bang glided past my face as it became a memory destined to befall all of my childhood. It was all yellow. And as I defeat the grass it crunched and gave way to my galloping pace. A charge similar to that of a patriot; intentional and with feeling. And God crept beneath the tallest layers of the sky, where I could breathe him in the atmosphere. And the branches stretched and reached up, as if to touch him; beckoning..
And in that moment, I could not remember etched marble. I did not feel I was late, or out of time. There were enough numbers for all of the stars, and I could remember the sound of the room the night I dreamt about you.
Yellow strips of bang glided past my face as it became a memory destined to befall all of my childhood. It was all yellow. And as I defeat the grass it crunched and gave way to my galloping pace. A charge similar to that of a patriot; intentional and with feeling. And God crept beneath the tallest layers of the sky, where I could breathe him in the atmosphere. And the branches stretched and reached up, as if to touch him; beckoning..
And in that moment, I could not remember etched marble. I did not feel I was late, or out of time. There were enough numbers for all of the stars, and I could remember the sound of the room the night I dreamt about you.
Friday, December 11, 2009
diet coke vs. coke zero
Have you, yourself, found [yourself] face to face, at a McDonald's, wondering why on earth Coke A Cola would spend the money on having two different types of diet colas? or why haven't they phased out the old finally..
I, myself, have pleaded with the lady at Subway to disclose with me the difference and after many futile attempts i began to wonder:
"am i stammering upon some ever-lasting gobstopper grounds? will Slugworth confront me in a dark alley and tell me to stop putting my nose where it doesnt belong?"
I pressed forward.
i pulled together many different answers from the web and this is what i suppose is the best answer:
1. diet Coke is not made from the original formula Coke a Cola is made from, also artificial sweetener.
2. on an advertising hand, men are more likely to buy something "out there!" rather than a safe diet soda. Coke Zero sounds more neutral, thus more appealing to men.
b. also Coke Zero is, in fact, made from the original formula and is said to taste more like real Coke. (THIS, HOPEFULLY, MEANS THE ORIGINAL FORMULA THAT SUPPOSEDLY HAD COCAINE, YA!)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
